The Book.

The sun sets over Mt. Edo…

Amaterasu… my lady the Mistress of the Light…The Goddess of Eternal Beauty and Illumination…so loved by the finest kenjutsuka that The Empire of the Sun ever saw, trained by the finest of the sensei that there ever was, of the noble Way of the Sword.

Me.

So beloved, of his father—Kenjutsu Sensei to the Lord High Chancellor, Ronin, mendicant Zen monk, feared by all, loved by only a few—beloved son, bushi, kodomo gunjin…my beloved little soldier. The time has come to wave you goodbye, exactly like the cherry blossoms, as they float down to the hard ground, frosted by the water demon Kappa, as the god Fujin blows the dark, cold winds…



Time to wave goodbye to my beloved Mt.Edo, to my lovely Shimabara and the holy Mt.Fuji…to wave goodbye to my trusted dai-sho…so resplendent in their glory of having struck fear and respect into the hearts of the Wise and the Brave, the Angry and the Foolhardy…



Had I done right?

The eternal precepts of the bushi guided my actions all my years on this beautiful globe. Even my years as ronin, as a masterless bushi, devoid of the honour of being affiliated to my daimyo, whoever he may be, was spent under the dictates of the ironbound dictates of the Way. Always the Warrior. Ever. The Codes of Bushido was all I had, save my inhuman, cruel mastery over these evil blades…

Evil soul, evil blade.

So would speak my beloved friend and one time Teacher of the principles of Ch’an—so it was called in classical Mandarin, I smile to think--- now they call it Zen. My beloved friend, he shall be remembered as the greatest Master of this sect of beautiful realization. My friend. The Master of Ceremonies to the Daimyo of all Daimyo. The most Literate of all Poets. Lover of Basho. And Shiki. And Ono-no-Komachi. Poet. Philosopher. Master of Shinobi.

Takuan. O-Sensei Takuan Zenji. Jonin of the Togakure and Gyokku ryu. Heir patriarch of two of the most feared sects of the walkers-in-stealth. My beloved friend and sparring partner in the noble Path of the Sword.



How I miss him. He was the inventor of many a stroke that graces the Five Rings. The reverse butterfly…I remember the shiai, the free practice session when he suddenly turned his katana and slapped down my wakizashi only to extend the noble blade and perpetrate a strike from the reverse angle. What beauty there was in knowing that the strike would have fatal had it been anybody save my most beloved friend …what beauty in knowing that the revered Sword Saint would lie bleeding at the feet of the finest Shadow Warrior ever.

My noble, humble friend. He would not allow me to name the strike after him, proclaiming that he was but a poor monk, and anyway, his vows of abstinence were being violated by living in the Palace of the Sun Emperor, and he could not violate his vow of humility by allowing me to “immortalize” him in my works…

As if he could be overlooked… he would forever be remembered, as a philosopher par excellence, with no knowledge of the great service that he accorded unto his country. But well his time is over, as mine is now…



I remember Iori. My beloved son. My child. I raised you in my image, making you taste rice and steel together, creating the finest to ever hold the noble blade. For you I wrote The Record of Two-Heavens, so as to act as a reference manual as you chose to enact the role of a Master of the Path…For you I gave up the Path of Blood, and led the life of itinerant monk, a mendicant who, most amusingly, invited whispered awe whenever he entered an inn, or even an obsolete Shinto temple…a man of peace.

For you I gave up Glory. And you deserted me. By choosing to follow The Path that I so arduously taught you to follow, by affirming to the principles of Honour, of Giri, of the purity of Duty, you left the loving arms of your father to serve the Shogun. To serve country and king. To perish under an avalanche to save the daughter of the Lord High Chancellor, Lord Tajima, the woman who merited your love.



Lord Tajima.

My beloved friend. My sincere retainer. My most serious advisor, and ally—he was also one of the finest Kenjutsu sensei of the Land of the Sun, as well as a man who treated me with great esteem, and the true loyalty of a friend. A man who dedicated his whole life to his country…a man who taught my son, and groomed him to be a man of political worth, and fame. A man who shall not be remembered, save perhaps as an advisor to the Mikado, and one of the hereditary masters of the Tajima School of Fencing, and Kenjutsu instructor to the Shogun…

No one shall remember him as a man who sacrificed all…connubial bliss, family, and enjoyment of the immense riches that the station he was born into conferred upon him…sacrificed all so as to ensure that his noble nation saw political stability uplift.

Will anyone remember him as the poet? One of the finest?



      “ The shadows look on

                  As the heron pauses, before his final flight

                   Into the dusk-hued dawn…”



An effort succinct and noble enough to match the love-poems that I misquoted from Basho when I was wooing Iori’s mother. An effort commendable and noteworthy. A veritable Shiki, who shall be remembered as naught, for he willingly, killed immortality for the cause of others…

Where are you, noble friends? Shall I meet you where I go today? Shall I be allowed entrance into the Ten…into the Western Heavens, which are graced by Amaterasu and Hachiman—my patron saint—by Izanagi and Izanami—our divine parents, and to all of Creation?



Or will I be exiled to spend ten thousand years in Esemono, the Underworld, as payment of my sins—like the time I single handedly wiped out The Sixteen Families in Sarashina? Bushido dictated I spare none, not even the eleven-year-old who hardly knew how to comprehend my whirling determinants of the “two heavens”…Two Heavens. Ah! How foolish it sounds, how empty, how superfluous, how vainglorious—an effort to nominate an enhanced instrument of death into something divine—as if to protect myself from the kami of those I had killed.

It was what forced me to write.

I had long given up the art of calligraphy. My kanji had much suffered. But I decided to leave something of worth. A guide to Power. A manual of guidance to all who wished to learn the rigid discipline necessary to master the Way…I had destroyed the Niten-Ki, The Record of Two-Heavens which I had created for my beloved Iori after he perished, and I wished to leave a book that would supercede the previous one. A book to teach all Warriors, great and small, the precepts that made the use of two swords instead of one- a tactic that led to invincibility. And on a larger scale, I would leave something that would equal the famed Tao Te Ching in its philosophical content, as well as a manual that Sun Tzu would feel jealous about were he around. A magnum opus of Kenjutsu. Of Philosophy. And of that immense mystery that is Life. A path to follow if one were to reach a destination.



So I began.



First came the nomination.



What could be more apt than the Elements that represented the Attitudes adopted by all bushi as they proceeded to enter the Field of Combat, or the lesser fatal bounds of the Dojo. So I named the chapters after the Elements. And attributed the qualities corresponding to each.



The Scroll of the Earth taught perseverance. The Wind Scroll taught resilience. The Scroll of Fire would perhaps be the most oft-read by the followers of bushido, as it taught the more physical aspects of my School of Warfare, the celebrated and well-feared Niten Ryu—the Two Heavens School of fencing where both katana and wakizashi (the ceremonial short sword previously used solely to commit seppuku, or ritual suicide to save oneself from dishonour) were used in combat, thereby making it a far superior and deadly sect of the martial disciplines.



The Scroll of Water was actually meant to teach, or rather advice on formulation of strategy. But it became more and more technical, especially as I was influenced by the Art of War—and Sun Tzu’s statement, “ So much for strategy!” What had meant to instruct the Warrior to be a General would possibly end up making him only a fine Knight , after all. The Water Scroll, therefore, stands defeated in its original purpose.



The Scroll of the Void. How many shall understand? How many shall read it twice? How many shall comprehend the underlying concepts of the Philosopher who must reside in the heart of the Warrior so as to ensure he does not stand devoid of his humanity? How many shall read it to understand that it is not solely a pathway to draw up hidden reserves of strength, but the reflections of an old father who tries to remember the son who died before his time? None. I know.



My beloved Iori.



The Book.



The grandiose sounding “Book of Five Rings”.



The True Manual of Death. That portrays the precepts of invincibility. My Lady Amaterasu, what have I done?

In my folly, my extreme grief, I have foolishly tried to create something of worth, and failed. As I failed to protect my son. From the violence that I so excelled at. Failed to be a man of the family, a man of kata, or form—to proceed to have family, subjects, and a daimyo—instead of the romantic fool who rode the wind and sought glory. Failed to create Beauty, and created Death itself.



They called me Kensei. The Sword Saint. The greatest swordsman the world ever saw. And, the creator of a Martial Science that would be forever celebrated, as long as nobility exists in this world—for the sword is the noblest of all weapons. The Instructor to the Mikado, The Sun Emperor. The man who never lost a duel ( at least, publicly ), never refused to fight, and effectively, mercilessly disposed of overwhelming numbers of enemies with a grace that was not human. A Master. Feared. Respected. Held in great awe.

Tired.

Lonely.

Too proud to beg company.



My book. It shall bring Death. Where I wrote it to promise Knowledge, it shall only serve to educate the samurai how to subjugate. Terrorise. Misuse the force that they already possess in profusion. What have I done…



It is too late.



It is my eve…I smile at my own expression “my eve”…it is my eve to take the coward’s way out, as I prepare to commit seppuku by entering the caves of Mt. Edo never to return to the land of men…



They shall remember me. As the Kensei. Sword Saint. The greatest martial arts practitioner Nihon, the Land of The Rising Sun ever saw. Miyamoto Musashi. Master of the Katana, and the Wakizashi. Strategist supreme. Destroyer of enemies. Formulator and entrepreneur of the finest style of the Sword. Author of the Book. Author of The Two Heavens. The text that makes a man invincible. A dying father’s attempts to recreate his images of his warrior son. A book of death and blood. A Book of Five Rings.